Losing Virginity (15 page)

………

I
arrived at Mo-Joe’s Coffee House about ten minutes early. I didn’t think that
would make me seem too anxious, especially since my hormones were in a holding
pattern waiting for the go-ahead to release the endorphins.

Taking
one of the big comfy booths not directly in the middle of the place but
certainly not secluded in the back I plopped down facing the door and waited.

Mo-Joes
was
a cool place but I did feel a little out of my
element. Most of my classmates would choose the closer, more expensive
Starbucks that was only two blocks from our corner of the campus. But I was
willing to travel the two extra blocks to be in a dimly lit coffeehouse where
the people smelled like patchouli body oil and clove cigarettes. Girls with
dreadlocks and tattoos would mingle with boys in vintage bowling shirts.

It
wasn’t my style at all. But it was fun to watch, like some bizarre fashion
show.

The
coffee was bad and the service was even worse. I had to get up and pour myself
my own refill. But I was happy to see Big Stick when he walked in through the
door. He looked totally out of place with a polo shirt tucked into a pair of
khakis and, oh gosh, boat shoes. That was pretty nerdy for this crowd but he
didn’t seem to notice.

“Excuse
me, miss? Sit anywhere?” he said to me seriously as I held the pot of coffee in
my hands pouring a cup.

“Oh,
um, well we’re pretty crowded but I think the really cute young lady in that
booth over there will be happy to share her space with you.”

He
grinned and gave me a wink. My knees went weak. I always loved when a guy
winked at me. There’s something kind of innocent yet bad-boy about it.

So,
I grabbed another mug, since I didn’t want to interrupt the waitress who was
having a deep conversation with one of the patrons about the band she was going
to hear tonight and poured Big Stick a cup, too. I placed it in front of him,
grabbed a coffee ice cream cone, and slid into the other seat feeling giddy and
awkward as I tried to act cool.

We
made some small talk, the weather was nice, traffic was hectic, and did he hear
about the earthquake in Brazil? Oh, yes, how terrible. Truthfully, I didn’t
know anyone in Brazil so it wasn’t high on my priority list. But I once knew a
bouncer whose name was Brazil. Oh, wow, well, that’s something.

A
hush settled over us. The sound of the coffeehouse was pleasant with the people
talking over some kind of be-bobby instrumental techno music. Plates and cups
clanking together as the staff washed a few dishes. It was a comforting
symphony. Big Stick and I looked awkwardly at each other… I looked down at the
table.

“I
want to suck you, lick
you,
I
wanna
move my tongue all over you... I
wanna
feel you in my
mouth... Yep, that's how I... Eat ice cream,” I said, breaking the silence.

Then
I took a bite of my ice cream and another bite. When I finished I glanced up
and Big Stick was leaning back with a big grin on his face.

“What?”
I asked.

“The way you eat ice cream.
You purr like a
cat,” he said laughing.

I
must have turned every color of red possible because he only laughed harder as
he looked at my face.

“Stop,
it tastes good.”

“I
could tell… Anyway, I had a really great time the other night,” he said, boldly
looking directly into my eyes. There was no boyish hesitation in his voice. He
was confident and cool.

“Yeah?
I did too.” I,
on the other hand blushed terribly.

“So,
tell me. Have you ever been deep sea diving?”

I
looked at him like he told me he used to be a woman. Where in the world did
this question come from?

“Um, no.
Can’t say that I have.”

“Would
you ever like to?”

Was
this some kind of trick question? Was this a deal breaker? If I answered yes
then I was the girl of his dreams but if I answered no I would be tossed on the
scrap heap?
 
Or maybe it was the other
way around? If I answered yes I was no better than a leper but if I said no
then by all means let’s start picking out china patterns.

I
knew I had been staring at him as the thoughts went through my mind. If deep
sea diving was a deal breaker it might be best to know that now.

“Uh,
well, I love boats. I’ve been out fishing a few times, mostly when I was a kid.
My parents rented from a guy when we went to Florida for vacation a couple
times. It was nice. Just soaking up the sun and listening to nothing but the
waves and maybe a few gulls.” I smiled at him. “And let’s face it. Salt water
smells really good. But, I never went in the water to swim. I guess I saw too
many movies about giant sharks and squids as a kid.”

He
seemed to be very interested in what I was saying by the look in his eyes.
“That’s good to know.” He took my hand across the table. As I looked at his
hand holding mine I saw my watch. I had to get back to campus and go to class.
Lit class, I think, or
Anthro
.
I
couldn’t remember but I knew I had to go.

“I’m
sorry,” I said sadly, wondering if I should just cut class.

“I
know you’ve got class to go to.” He cut me off. How irresponsible would I look
if I just blew off by responsibilities? A college probably wouldn’t care but
Big Stick likely would. He had a job and seemed successful.

“Yeah,
I gotta go.”

“Mind
if I walk with you a while?”

“I
don’t mind at all. Campus is just two blocks south and well, you know where my
apartment is.”

He
smiled and nodded. I guess my nervousness entertained him. It was easier
talking to him in the elevator when I didn’t know who he was or at a bar where
there was alcohol to relax me.

As
we started to walk he took my hand. I held on to him, interlacing my fingers
with his wishing I didn’t have to go to class.

As
if reading my mind he pulled me over to a bench where he sat down and motioned
for me to join him. How could I say no? He knew I had class so it was going to
be his fault if I missed. He looked at me with sparkling eyes and a devilish
grin that made me want to see what scandalous plan he had in mind.

“Just
sit with me for a second and then I promise to let you get to class,” he said
with another wink.

As
I sat next to him, my thigh was against his. He put his arm around my back and
pulled me closer to him. He breathed softly in my ear and then gently kissed my
neck. Jesus Penus…

There
weren’t a lot of people around, thank goodness, but we were not totally alone
either. So, our clothes remained on. Before now public sex seemed trashy but
now I was okay with. I guess being horny made me okay with many things. I did
turn to face him and felt his full lips against mine. I leaned in, pushing my
warm breasts against his chest and kissed him back with as much passion as
could be allowed on a public park bench.

He
moved his hand to my neck, over my shoulder and quickly down to brush over my
breast. I inhaled quickly as my body responded to his touch. I was on the verge
of making a bad decision right there on the park bench with campus security,
fellow students, God and everyone else watching, He leaned back and slowly
opened his eyes.

“Well,
okay,” I said breathlessly. “Give me a call later.” I stood, fixed my hair and
just a little woozily started toward my apartment.

“Most
definitely will,” I heard him say. When I turned around I caught him watching
me walk away. I added a little more swing to my thing with each step and made
it back to my apartment. I collected my books for
Anthro
and headed off to my literature class.

………

The
next day I was on cloud nine. Even Betty couldn’t get to me, because I avoided
her at every turn. But I was ready to tear my hair out by the end of my shift.
Six hours of sifting through the organization’s financial records, and while
Bartok didn’t say much to me, she was sitting in the same room as me while I
worked for half the day. She chewed her gum loudly, put her feet up on the desk
I was working at, chuckled at the newspaper she was reading, and stared at me
with a mixture of amusement and contempt. I didn’t take the bait.

Next
stop after We Can Do It! was Emery Hall for Cultural Anthropology. On my way I
needed a quick breather, and I ducked into the quad to take advantage of the
fading sunshine while other students hurried by me. I whipped out my IPhone to
check my e-mails, and I’m not going to lie – my heart might have skipped a beat
when I saw that I had a new message from Ryder.

“Big
Stick,” I sighed.

It
read:

“Hey
you –

I
had a really good time the other night and yesterday. Thought you might
wanna
come over for like a flick and something to eat after
your Sex in the Jungle class?

Let
me know. I have no plans.

Hope
to see you soon.”

Should
I say that I have plans? This was my immediate thought, but why? No, I probably
wouldn’t find anyone better than
Big
Stick in four
years at this school, and, let’s face facts: time was of the essence.

I
quickly messaged him back.

“Hey
Country Boy,” I began. I proceeded to give him my cell number and tell him that
if he gave me his address, I’d surely be there shortly after class.

………

Class
was hell. It was time for everyone to share their impressions of the Yanomamo,
their “informational objective” and whatnot. Aside from dodging the stares of
Professor Tunde, that I was positive were aimed at me with no good intent, I
couldn’t stop checking my phone for a text from Big Stick...

I
was behaving like a middle-
schooler
.

As
one of the guys from across the room was giving his little presentation and I
was staring down into the little blue glow of the phone in my lap, having
eagerly felt it vibrate with a text from an unfamiliar number, a familiar voice
thundered through the room and shook me from my nervous reverie.

“Hi there, Olivia.
Is there any
way I could perhaps make this class more … Entertaining for you today?”

I
took in Big Stick’s address before looking up. I turned shades of red that I
didn’t even know existed and literally dropped my phone onto the floor. There
were chuckles. The kid who was giving his presentation sank quickly into his
seat, grateful for this quick reversal of the room’s attention.

“Sorry,
Professor Tunde… I’m sorry, Michael,” I said. I was rarely this bold in class,
but I figured hey, if he was trying to single me out in this manner, I was
going to turn the tables on him any way I knew how.

He
was as cool as ever, but I could tell that Tunde was a bit taken aback by the
way I had turned his flirtatiousness from the previous week around on him in
front of everyone.

My
sarcasm increased.

“It’s
just my grandma… She’s been really sick, like in the hospital and stuff. I just
feel like I need to keep checking for messages from home… I’m sorry.”

And
the Oscar goes to… Olivia Spurgeon...
The Virgin.

I
half-expected Michael Tunde to have some sarcastic comeback, intended to
embarrass me just a bit in front of the class, maybe enough to bring me back to
his office to girlishly apologize again. This seemed to be a real hobby of
professors, embarrassing the students who were falling asleep or texting, or
what have you. Not this time. I had nailed it. I went all Donkey Kong on him,
sort of.

“Okay,
Olivia. That’s not a problem… I uh, just wanted to make sure you were paying
attention, not just texting some boyfriend or something,” he smiled. “And I
wish your grandmother the best.”

I
smiled shyly and affected a look of preoccupied but complete concentration.

“Thanks,
Michael.”

There
were some titters and giggles as class resumed. The last thirty minutes
couldn’t end quickly enough.

………

I
nearly broke an ankle racing down the stairs and out the door of Emery Hall. I
needed to pace myself here as far as the excitement factor went. I knew a
pretty easy route to Big Stick’s apartment from the campus, and I probably had
five blocks of downtown Hanover and five blocks of tree-lined roadside before I
got there.

Wait,
I told myself. What was I doing? I was literally counting the blocks as I
half-jogged towards this guy’s apartment, my messenger bag bouncing against my
side. This wasn’t the way I was supposed to be acting. Every time a girl did
this in a romantic comedy I had been forced to watch, I sneered or just turned
the thing off. Didn’t mama tell me that only fools rush in?

It
didn’t matter. I consciously slowed my pace and tried to think of some small
errand I could run on the way that would delay me just a little, just enough to
not make it painfully obvious that I had darted out of class as fast as I
could.

Wine,
I thought. Wine was the answer. What were dinner and a movie without wine?
Although I was positive that he probably had not only thought of this provision,
but also probably had a fully-stocked bar at his place, it seemed both a nice
gesture, and a time-waster. It was just what I needed.

I
came to a halt outside a little corner store just past the downtown area called
“The Grapevine.” It was a Monday night, so there was only a little frat boy
traffic going in and out. I saw just a few fellas picking up some beer,
whiskey, Mad Dog 20/20 or whatever it was they needed to get their solitary
“drink on”. Then there were the classy gents picking up Schnapps or some other
equally sweet ingredients for cocktails intended to corrupt the girls from a
neighboring apartment.

When
confronted with the store’s intimidating wine section, I was presented with
another self-conscious quandary: which wine would I buy? Also though, why did I
care so much? Would I search out what I thought to be the perfect wine for Big
Stick given what little I knew of his upbringing, taste in movies, and the
limited knowledge I had of his taste in food? Or would I brazenly, unpretentiously
just grab the cheapest but most palatable bottle I saw and just go with it? Or,
maybe the most attractive option was to just choose the wine that I liked the
best, Big Stick be damned. He seemed like he might appreciate that.

I
chose a blend of the three. It was red Bordeaux from the Three Crazies Winery.
Not too pretentious or cheap, but with an alcohol content tantamount to the
wild streak in Big Stick, given his taste for whiskey.

$8.99
later, I was on the road again, and it wasn’t ten minutes before I was in front
of The Hartford Estates.
Big Stick’s place.
It was a
seriously nice, colonial brick building, outfitted with the latest in front
door security, and crawling with vines. Think old style New Hampshire meets
Park Avenue swank.

I
nearly dropped my bottle of wine when my fingers were moving slowly over all of
the individual apartments’ buzzer buttons and his voice blasted into my face
from the speaker. How did he know I was here? He must have a sensor for my
overly excited vagina.

“Hey,
Ol… I’m opening the door. Come on up.”

A
quiet tone, much more effete than the metallic buzz I was expecting, came from
the door’s control panel, and with a click of the door, I was allowed into The
Hartford Estates.

I
started feeling self-conscious on my way up the red-carpeted stairs. My feet
padded almost silently and I thought it might be nice to take off my shoes and
walk bare foot on the carpet that was immaculately clean and looked more
comfortable than my apartment bed. I had to look really classy to anyone observing
out their peep hole because of the brown-bagged bottle of Bordeaux I was
swinging alongside me like a wino, and quickly stuffed it into my bag. Finally,
I made it to the fourth floor.

………

I
raised and angled my hand, ready to rap on his door but he yet again surprised
me by swinging it open and greeting me with that sort of smile that made me
think he could see right through my clothes.

“Hey,”
he said, ushering me inside.

His
place was obscenely nice. I’m talking Ikea catalog all the way. I also saw that
he had already taken care of the wine situation, as well as the whiskey
situation. I didn’t know how drunk this lothario intended for me to get
tonight, but it certainly wasn’t going to extend to more than two bottles of
wine and one bottle of bourbon.

“And
you brought wine,” he exclaimed cheekily as he closed the door behind me.

“Well,
I didn’t want to just show up empty handed. That would be ten different kinds
of rude.”

God,
I thought, my hands were sweating and my mouth was suddenly dry. I was drawing
a blank as to what kind of clever witty things I could say so all that came out
was, “You’re place is very coordinated.” What…
The…
Fuck?

Thankfully,
he smiled as he poured a glass of the white wine he had chilling in a bucket.

Then
he proceeded to deliver to me a lengthy digression on the superiority of white
to red wine, and how his palate had evolved throughout the years. But, when I
looked at him after taking in the décor of his apartment he was reciting these
facts with his eyes totally crossed.

I
burst out laughing. It helped make the awkward go away.

“I’m
sorry. I just picked what I liked,” I said.

“Don’t
worry about it,” he breathed into my ear, startling me.

“I
never was able to stomach much red wine… You’re welcome to drink the bottle if
you like though…”

That
may not be a bad idea... God, I was so nervous already. He hadn’t even tried to
depants
me.

After
setting my drink down, he took my coat and my bottle of wine and motioned for
me to have a seat. The place kept its industrial brick walls which faded down
to a maple wood flooring. His living room opened to the left and was one large
room with steps leading up to a loft. Underneath his loft was a small little
office space with a computer against the brick wall and a window that looked out
onto the street. To the right was a small compact little kitchen that was just
large enough to fit an island for chopping and holding pots and pans
underneath.

He
played tour guide for me, something that sounded like he had done many times
before, showing me some of the renovation work he had done there. The loft
upstairs had a bit of a game room, with a pool table and small TV hanging from
the ceiling and from there it led into a modest bedroom that was nearly filled
by a large bed.

Of
course he said the obligatory “and this is where the magic happens…” and I gave
the obligatory eye roll until I realized he was showing me the bathroom.
Catching me totally off guard, again I burst out laughing.

Otherwise,
it was a very beautiful and classy apartment.

I
also couldn't help but wonder what he did to afford a place like this
especially in Hanover, so near to the major hospital and campus. That would be
rude to ask though, I decided.

“I
love this place,” I said out loud.

He
grinned and went to hand me the glass of some Pinot
Grigio
he had chilled. He took his own highball of whiskey and sat down next to me.

“So,
do you want to play a game of pool with me?” he asked.

“Of
course,” I said, but amended with, “but I’m not very good.”

He
grinned excitedly.

“That’s
okay. I don’t have people over much so I never get to use this thing,” he said,
then realized that it sounded a bit sad. “I just don’t have much time and so
many of my friends either got married, pregnant, moved away, or whatever else.”

“Well,
I’ll be happy to visit and fail miserably at pool any time.” I said.

“I
would love that.”

………

We
brought our drinks up to the loft and his ‘man cave’. He started racking the
pool balls and I looked around. Leather couch, pool table, and a pretty
decently sized television hanging from the ceiling with a gaming system
attached to it.

“So
why does every man need to have a ‘man cave’, and also, why call it a ‘cave’?
Do all men consciously know they are Neanderthals?” I said smiling.

"A
student of this prestigious university should know, Ol, that there are many
varieties of Neanderthals."

I
had to admit, he was funny.

"So,
little girl, do you feel like letting me show you the ropes? I played a bit
back in school."

"Sure,"
I smiled innocently.

I
can't lie - part of the reason I was pretending I didn't know a thing about the
game was in hopes that he'd maneuver me into the classic shooting class, the
really close up kind. I casually let him enfold me into his arms, his hands
guiding mine over the stick, with his strong body warm against mine. I could
feel his breath against my neck.

"Oh,
so that’s how you do it. Okay, I see now," I'd say quietly to him as he
guided me into a shot. They weren't even really good shots, but I acted
impressed with his masculinity until I figured it was time to end this charade
and show Big Stick what kind of girl I was.

I
had solids and Big Stick had stripes, and by the end of the whole thing, he was
standing across the table staring at me with what looked like a mixture of
shock, awe, and lust. The game of pool was anything but a “game” in the
traditional sense. I absolutely took him apart in our match. It started out
with me playing just a bit of a "shark." I probably hurt his ego but
I was too competitive to think about that while we played. I quickly thought
about dinner so he didn’t have time to stew on the fact that I kicked his butt
in pool.

“What’s
for dinner?” I asked casually, grinning at him.

Apparently,
he wasn’t as much of a gourmand as he had seemed in our
OKcupid
and elevator chats, but that was okay. He had ordered sushi, and for delivery.
Yes! I absolutely love sushi!

………

“So,
where’d you learn to play like that?” he asked as he gently pushed a pair of
chop sticks across the table towards me and gestured for me to dig into the
sushi plate.

I
settled back into my chair and smiled. This was super elegant, but after
totally sharking him at pool, and with a glass of wine in front of me, I felt
much more relaxed.

“It’s
just something I used to do back in high school for fun, you know… Once my
homework was done and all.”

I
winked at him playfully. I did not mention that it was my ex-boyfriend Carlos
who had taught me how to play. In much the same sensual way that Big Stick had
just tried to.

“I
see, I see,” he said, dipping a Fancy Maki roll into the tempura sauce.

“How
did you get to be twenty eight years old still being so bad at pool?” I
grinned. “Make it a good one because there is no real excuse when you’ve got
your own table.”

“I’ve
always kept myself busy,” he said, laughing. “I like to have a good time, but
frat house games have never been my forte.”

………

I
was three rolls deep in Idaho Maki and New Hampshire rolls when he asked me if
I was in the mood for a movie. It was Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. As I
mentioned before, I was no fan of the TV series, and it seemed almost like he
was busting this DVD out as some sort of slight against me or a practical joke.
Once we started watching the movie, a side of me I never knew existed came out,
making sarcastic comments on the acting and the costumes.

However,
after my second glass of wine, I started to realize that Ricardo
Montalban
was not only quite handsome but was a great actor
and whether or not that broad chest was really his I didn’t care.

“This
movie seems so real to me sometimes. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen it so much.”

“Likely.
No movies seem real to me but whenever people go under water I hold my breath.”